


My Heart is Gold and My Hands are Cold

by pterodactylichexameter



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot Collection, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5825785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactylichexameter/pseuds/pterodactylichexameter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Rowaelin smut drabbles for your nsfw needs</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Requested from aelinscourt on tumblr! 
> 
> "Rowan and Aelin are at a dinner or something and having a silent conversation and she lets him know she isn't wearing underwear (like in QoS) and they sneak off into a closet or something :) "

The dinner party was all going well until Aelin met Rowan’s eyes across the table and gave him a sly smirk and he knew he was done for.

Shit, he’d been done for since she emerged from their room in a deep crimson dress, as vivacious as it was subdued: gold beads spraying out from her throat, down the fitted sleeves, twisting over the curve of her hips.  She’d done her make up dramatically: dark eyes that caught his dangerously fast, blood red lips he definitely didn’t imagine drifting over his body. She’d spun around for him and he thought his eyes would fall out of his head at the sheer high back with beads that followed the lines of her tattoo, as if her skin was painted in metallic gold.

When the salads came she brushed her foot against his, but played innocent when he tried to catch her eye (he knew her well enough to know it hadn’t been an accident).  He was almost ashamed of himself, at how needy he was that he couldn’t keep his eyes off the curves under her dress that did little to hide anything.

Not that she needed to hide anything.

He wasn’t even going to admit to himself that when she got into a heated debate with the man next to her about taxation policies that he had to shift in his chair and rearrange his napkin in his lap because angry, passionate, political Aelin made him remember in excruciating detail about that time she’d talked foreign trade agreements while sitting in naked in his lap.

He paused with his spoon in his mouth during dessert when she caught his eye and licked a stray drop of chocolate sauce off her finger, tongue darting past her lips.

A curse too vulgar for a dinner party fell out of his mouth anyway.

They progressed into the sitting room afterwards, behind their hosts, and he dropped a hand to her lower back, just wanting to _touch_ her.

She smelled of lavender and he knew he’d taste chocolate if he kissed her.

“There’s something important I think you should be aware of,” she said, leaning up to say quietly, the courtiers in front of them oblivious.

One eyebrow rose as he glanced down at her, suddenly serious because anything was possible at a table where it would be easy for their enemies to hide. “Oh?”

A devilish smirk played at her lips, somehow still crimson after their meal.  He shouldn’t have been surprised. “This is dress is the only thing I have on.”

The dots began to connect in his head.

“The _only_ thing.”

“Not. . .?”

She gave a seemingly innocent shrug and he swallowed hard, pausing in the hallway, then glancing around.

Their guests hadn’t noticed they were missing yet, and he sought out the closest door—anything.

When he tugged her towards what had to be a corner closet, she didn’t even say anything, just pulled the door closed behind them until they were shut in the darkness.

His arms wrapped around her, turning them until he could crowd her up against the linen shelves, mouth finding hers in the darkness.

She stretched up to meet him eagerly, grasping his shoulders with a little noise that fell out with her breath when he grabbed at her thigh, hiking her dress up.

“I was wondering how long it would take,” she murmured when he broke away to nip at her jawline, below her ear.

“You were trying to crack me?” he asked, not even angry. How could he be? He was about to fuck the queen of Terrassen in an unfamiliar linen closet (familiar linen closets were an entirely different story).  Last time he checked, that was nothing to be angry about.

“If the underwear thing didn’t work I was going to keep grabbing your ass in progressively public places.” He couldn’t resist a bark of laughter, fingers finally reaching the soft flesh of her thigh, her dress around her hips, beads scratching at his skin.

“You can still do that,” he teased, sliding his hands around to the firm curve of her backside, squeezing when her hands started tugging at his belt.  “I’m entirely irresistible.” If she started to forego any underthings on a daily basis, he’d be one hundred percent okay with that.

“Who says I won’t?”  He jolted as her small hands grabbed his ass anyway and he could feel her smirking against his mouth. “Better start now, I suppose.”

Rowan let out a grunt as he slanted his mouth over hers, tongue sweeping past her lips. His hand slipped back through the soft hair at the nape of her neck, body pressing hers harder into the shelves.

Predatory heat rose in his chest at the deep moan that reverberated through her when he hoisted her thigh over his hip, grinding into her.

As much as he wanted to take her to his satisfaction (and as much as the fae male in him was roaring through his blood), he wanted to hear the noises that fell from her throat, to taste the sweat on her skin, and feel the fire licking every inch of her bare flesh pressed against him.

His name slipped from her lips, her fingers tightening on his forearm when he reached between them to where her dress was hiked over her hips.

Her breath washing over his shoulder and her nails biting into his skin were the only things keeping him anchored to the earth in the invisibility the darkness provided, every other sense overwhelmed with Aelin: the scent of her perfume, her lavender soap, her arousal.

He muttered a curse into her throat when his fingers slipped easily into her slick folds.  “ _Aelin_.”

She wasn’t even sheepish, only grappling at the ties of his trousers and grinding down against the heel of his hand in impatience.  “Come _on_.”

“So demanding,” he murmured, not quite past the point of teasing. His voice faltered, though, when she reached into his pants and wrapped a warm hand around his thick length.

“You’re damn right,” she murmured and shoved down his clothes enough that she was positioning him while he held her up with one hand, steadying them with one hand on the shelf behind her head.

He tried to go slow, but as soon as she was around him, hot and tight and _perfect_ , and the low moan that rose from her throat reached his ears, he was done for.

“I’ll kill you if you rip my dress,” she murmured, breathless, her ankles clasped behind him, one hand roaming over his back, the other grasping the nape of his neck.

“I’d like to see you try,” he groaned, nipping the shell of her ear (he pushed her dress a little higher anyway).

She didn’t have enough leverage to return the rhythm as much as she usually did, but he didn’t mind doing all the work, not when it was Aelin who was arching into his touch, whose pulse was racing just under his teeth.

He could feel the heat growing between them and reached down, finding the slick pearl of flesh that had him swallowing her gasps in a sudden messy kiss.

Her breaths came in labored pants and the moment she let out a quiet cry, shuddering, he murmured her name, kissing along her jaw, down her throat.

She was still coming down from her high but it only took him several more strokes until his grasp tightened on the shelf behind her and he was groaning into the bend of her throat, giving into the feel of her around him.

They paused, recovering, catching their breaths, when Aelin let out a breathless laugh, head falling into his shoulder. “So what does that make, three dinner parties now?”

“It’s the dresses,” he said with a lazy smirk, well aware that the dresses wouldn’t be anything without the woman.

He couldn’t see, but he knew she was rolling her eyes at the attempt at an excuse that neither one of them believed.

Suddenly, though, the door opened and light poured in the closet, followed by an astonished yelp and the thump of something falling to the floor.

Aelin’s eyes went wide and she hid behind him while he glanced over to see a laundress with an open mouth and pink cheeks, eyes darting from his face to his bare ass, apparently not knowing what to do with a half-naked fae warrior and the queen in a linen closet.

“I’m sorry, we’ll need a minute,” Rowan just said, clearing his throat.  He reached over to pull the door shut again while the woman looked on in frozen astonishment.

Aelin choked out a laugh, cackling with her forehead against his chest. “We’ll need a minute?” she echoed and burst into another bout of laughter.

Rowan only chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before helping to right her.  “Well I wasn’t lying, was I?”

When the stepped out later, there was no sign of the laundress, only a gaggle of servant girls gathered in the threshold of a nearby door who shrieked and dispersed as soon as Rowan glanced their way.

“Looks like you got yourself some admirers,” Aelin teased, elbowing him in the side.

“You might have some competition,” he threw back with a raised brow, not concerned with the girls who couldn’t have been past fifteen.

Aelin snorted. “Finally.”

Rowan only broke into a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Smut prompt: angry rowaelin sex. On various (not necessarily horizontal) surfaces" from anon on tumblr

Usually at least one of them could at least hold it together; Rowan would brood while Aelin ranted or she would snort at his rapid-fire insults and wait till he was calm enough to knock some sense into him. Half past two in the morning and they still hadn’t agreed on the new trade settlements, though, wasn’t any recipe for civil discussion and at Aelin’s stray comment,  Rowan burst.

“What do you fucking think we’re trying to do here,” he growled,  slapping his palm down on the desk between them. “You’re not listening to a goddamn word I’m saying. I’m trying to _help_ you.”

She thrust the paper in her hands at him. “I’m trying to tell _you_ what I think b—”

“You’re twenty two. Just because you’re queen doesn’t mean you know _shit_.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Just because you’ve seen centuries doesn’t mean you _do_ know better.” She rose, chair scraping back suddenly on the floor. “If you don’t think I’m worth anything, then, then you can do the whole fucking thing by yourself.”

His nostrils flared in frustration and he seized her arm as she tried to pass, heading for the door. “You can’t just walk out like this. A _queen_ doesn’t walk out.”

She shoved him off, thrusting her palms into his chest. “Don’t think for one _second_ that you can tell me what to do.”

“I don’t _order_ you around like some serving maid,” he growled, pushing forward as she backed up.  “And if you think that I deserve any less input because we’re together, then you’re sorely mistaken, Aelin.”

“Fine, you _ass_ ,” she spat, and only then did he realize that he was looming over her, her arms braced on her desk behind her, chin tilted up to stare furiously up at him.

His breath caught for a moment, pulse bouncing.

She moved first, his face between her hands, dragging his mouth down to hers in a hot clash that was more teeth than lips.

“This argument isn’t over,” he growled, hands sliding greedily around her back, the soft robe and shift she’d settled into for the night slipping under his hands, gliding over the smooth muscle underneath.

“I’d be disappointed if it was,” she gasped, nipping his chin, making him grunt.

He grasped her thighs, hoisting her up onto her desk, blindly shoving aside papers.  Whatever politics they’d been discussing were completely gone from his thoughts as the lavender soap of her unbound hair coiled through him; the scent of her throat under his quick mouth, her blood that pounded beneath the surface.

“Rowan,” she breathed, heels pressing into his ass as he bunched her nightgown up around her thighs.  Her capable hands worked his trousers loose and gave him a few quick strokes.

_Fuck_ , he’d never tire of her hands.

“I’m still right,” he grunted into her shoulder as he sank into her slick heat.

She let out a muffled groan, arching against him, her breath washing over his neck.   “Keep telling yourself that.”

He pulled the tie of her robe open, groping her breast through the light cotton of her nightgown, relishing the sound that fell from her lips when he found her nipple.

He could have been dreaming, hallucinating with lack of sleep, at the sight of her under him, hair splayed back on her desk, lips parted, breasts bouncing with every thrust of his hips.  The only anchor he had in that moment was the perfect heat of her around him, her nails sharp on his upper arm.

He braced one forearm on the desk over her shoulder, the other digging into her hip, pulling her up to meet him.

“What do you need?” he grunted, lost in the feel of her around him: tight and wet and beautiful.  He knew he was still frustrated with her, but the thoughts kept slipping away, leaving nothing but the need to be near her, a mess of want to both yell and scream but also touch and tug her closer.

“Hands,” she murmured, pulling the neckline of her nightgown down, baring one breast and rolling her nipple between her fingers in the quick absence of his touch.

Without a moment’s hesitation he slid two fingers quickly in his mouth, then reached between them, finding the pearl of flesh that had her arching against him as he rolled his hips steadily into her.

It was quick, hard, her thighs tight around his hips and the scent of their sweat and sex in the air.

Aelin’s lips were at his throat, panted breaths in his ear.  The feel of her teeth tugging at his flesh and the press of her slick tongue just under his jaw had him pressing quicker with the hand between them, reading each hitch of her breath and gasp that told him more than any words ever could.

“I’ve always wanted this,” she murmured, low whine slipping out when he ground down against her.  “On this desk. I’ve thought about it so. . .”  Her lips fell open with the motion of his forefinger.

Gods, she would be the end of him, beautiful and falling apart under his hands.

“Where else?” he asked, half to know, half because he didn’t want the sound of her voice to fade.

“The greenhouse,” she murmured, digging harder into his ass with her heels. He gave a quick, deep thrust that had her gasping. “The banquet hall. I thought about dragging you behind a potted plant at one point and getting down on my knees right then and there.”

His eyes slipped shut at the prospect, a groan falling out. “That’s not fair, you know— “

“How much I like it when I use my mouth on you?”

His eyes snapped to hers.  It was no secret, of course.   That he liked to lay back to the feel of her lips caressing a slow path down his body, the heat of her mouth wrapped around him, small hands pressing into his hip bones.

“Don’t stop,” she suddenly groaned, pressing up into his hand that had gone momentarily slack.

He leapt back into motion, pulling her up to meet his lips in an open-mouthed kiss that was barely a kiss.

“Come on,” he urged, finger slipping over her in a quick rhythm that he knew would finish her. He knew her body as well as he did his own, what it took to do (or say) to have her writhing against him, the same pleasure that throbbed through him pulsing through her body.  “Fireheart.”

His vision blurred and he shuddered, holding on for the last second until he felt her quick gasp, the feel of her falling apart around him.

A mumbled string of curses fell from her mouth as he thrust slowly into her, riding the last waves of pleasure until he realized the tight grasp he had on her hip, that his forehead was resting heavily in the crook of her neck.

She was rubbing his shoulder under his shirt and he could feel sweat dampening his back, nostrils flaring at the overwhelming scent of them filling the room.

“You’re right about the treaty,” she murmured after a moment.

He drew back, offering her a raised brow. “Sex clear your mind? I have that effect.”

She nudged his ass with her foot and he knew the argument didn’t matter.   “Maybe I was just trying to rile you up.”

He snorted. Either way, it didn’t matter, because the next morning when he was stripping for a bath, he caught sight of his back in the mirror.  His skin was crisscrossed with the lines of her nails, and he huffed out a quick laugh before marching out into the parlor where she was reading.  She only smirked at her handiwork and led him back into her study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
>  come join me in my trashcan on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Come join me in my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)


End file.
